I make plays, performance art, and poems that feel like:
That one warehouse party above a yellow school bus depot before Bushwick was ~Bushwick~ where you climbed the fire escape, passed strangers kissing, ascending to the roof where you swear you saw your dead friend and you swear he was dancing.
A barn dance that you snuck out of your mom’s house to go to, where somebody’s friend’s brother brought the keg, where you hopped in the cool girl’s wood-panel volkswagen, where you ate moonshine peaches for the first time, where you got lost and talked to animals in the dark woods.
The game of spin-the-bottle that started it all.
Piercing your friend’s ear and the safety pin gets stuck mid-flesh, what do we do? Don’t freak out, breathe.
Breathe.
Okay. One, two, three.
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Photos by Emma Pilkington Mead @theemmaexperience